


Let The Flowers Come (watch how they grow)

by Deviation



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Chronological, POV Alternating, stylized writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviation/pseuds/Deviation
Summary: In a softer world, kindness would be enough to save them.





	Let The Flowers Come (watch how they grow)

Come with me, Genji says.

 

Hanzo closes his eyes. Ok, he says, ok.

 

* * *

 

There’s no windows here, in the center of base. Jesse prefers it that way- old habits of dark rooms and tight spaces bringing an odd sort of comfort. Hanzo has a room at the edge of base- a window to the outside. He needs a way out- an escape. He can’t rest if he can’t get out- he will never be trapped again.

 

Jesse traces along his jaw, pressing just slightly too hard to be considered a gentle touch. They are not gentle man- Hanzo wonders if he knows about the capsule imbedded in his molar- if he knows that it’s the only part of his old life he couldn’t bare to be rid of.

 

* * *

 

Jesse’s never put down roots. His home has been old motels, the backseat of a car, shelters with leaks in the roof for as long as he can remember. For a time, he thought he was capable of building a home- when Gabriel plucked him from the desert, fed him a warm meal and gave him a choice.

 

People think- that’s not a real choice. Going to prison, or being drafted. That’s not a choice at all.

 

But Gabriel never locked the doors, and Gabriel never put trackers on him, and Gabriel once took him to a bar and left him alone with his drink and they don’t know that Gabriel gave him a dozen chances to get away- to get out. To leave and start again.

 

You don’t have to give someone a choice to given them a choice. You don’t have to give an ultimatum to back someone into a corner. Jesse learned that young. Jesse thinks Gabriel did too.

 

* * *

 

The first time Hanzo killed someone he was nine years old.

 

Most in the clan don’t make their first kill until they’re sixteen- to prove that they deserve to be a part of the family. Sojiro handed Hanzo a knife and pointed and said nothing.

 

She’d tried to escape, with his brother. Tried to sneak them out of Hanamura, disappear into the night.

 

Hanzo stares into her eyes- the only part he inherited from her. He wants to ask her, why did you take him. He wants to ask her, did you know this would happen. He wants to ask her, why did you leave me behind. She smiles, and says nothing.

 

In twenty years, sword in hand, Hanzo will know the answer.

 

In twenty years, Genji will smile and say nothing.

 

* * *

 

Steady, she says from behind him, as he lifts the old weapon and aims. Steady, she says, staring down the scope as his anger overtakes him and he shoots to maim, to cause pain. Steady, she says, when he lifts the knife to her throat.

 

Jesse caresses Hanzo’s cheek just a little too hard to be considered kind. Hanzo grips Jesse’s hips, pulling him close and head tilted up.

 

Their hands do not shake- they have forgotten how.

 

* * *

 

Do you love him, Genji will someday ask.

 

He closes his eyes. He does not answer.

 

* * *

 

In his wandering years he met a man with seeds in his pockets. His hands are weathered and soft. His eyes are sharp and lined with grief. He is tired from traveling- it has been so long since he rested. He says, I have not slept in years. The old man replies, you sleep less and tire more with age.

 

They sit on the bench. There are children laughing. The old man reaches into his pocket and removes a fist full of seeds. Carelessly, he tosses them over his shoulder.

 

Were this a story, the old man would say something wise. Were this a story, the old man would perhaps smile mysteriously and make a quip of some sort. Instead, the old man gets up and walks away. Sometimes he reaches into his pocket and tosses more seeds.

 

He sits there a while longer. Birds come and peck at where the seeds fell. He looks down and sees one, thin, oval and black, resting on the sidewalk away from anything that could nourish it.

 

He picks it up.

 

* * *

 

Late at night they pretend to sleep, one nestled in the arms of the other. They’ve spent too long alone to ever find the sound of another’s breathing comforting. It’d be easier if they slept separately. It’d be easier if they parted ways after nights of rough hands and gasping breathes.

 

They pretend to sleep instead.

 

* * *

 

They are drifters- by nature or nurture its hard to say. It does not matter in the end. Eventually, the wind calls. Maybe the world will wear down your shape as you roll but at least you'll be free of moss.

 

Come with me, Jesse says, eyes guarded and back straight. He chews on his cigarillo, looking askance, hands deep in his pockets. He does not repeat himself as the silence stretches on, he does not fidget.

 

He expects the answer to be no, because when has the answer ever not been no?

 

Gabriel's eyes are sad but not surprised. He's never surprised.

 

When he shakes his head no, Jesse’s not surprised either.

 

* * *

 

This is what I deserve, he thinks later, after the end. After he’s left. After all he ever cared about lies dead.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo can’t be in rooms with only one exit. His room is on the far edge, the only one with two windows. He gets antsy in rooms with only one door, no matter how large and spacious it is. He doesn’t like walls in general. More than once he’s been found sleeping outside, or on the roof. At the very least the windows and doors are always open, no matter the temperature or weather.

 

He’s at a loss to explain the ways that doors of paper can become impenetrable. How walls can go from keeping out to keeping in.  

 

* * *

 

Jesse remembered the way Genji would clench what was left of his jaw when Angela needed to test his nervous system. He remembers the way his entire body would tremble and how not a sound would escape. Jesse hated Hanzo then for what he did. And hated him long after they met.

 

Perhaps he would have gone on hating him had Hanzo never been driven from his sniper’s perch and bloodied in battle with the rest of him. When Angela treats him on the flight home, he does not clench his jaw, he does not shake. For a few moments his eye burns and he needs to tilt his head back in the pretense of taking a nap.

 

It is only when all but Jesse leave that it happens.

 

Breathing deep and even and slow, eyes barely open and staring through his eyelashes, Jesse sees the way Hanzo’s body shakes. The way his jaw clenches.

 

Genji never hid the pain he was in very well.

 

I am who I am because of my brother, he once said, bitter and angry. Again he said it, later, when placating Jesse’s rage.

 

Jesse doesn’t understand yet, but he knows now that there’s something there to try to understand.

 

* * *

 

He grins ferally, unkindness and blood oozing from his teeth. They hesitate, look to one another. One takes a step back.

 

He is danger, and he is death. Usually, he’s too far to see that realization in their eyes, that he's the predator and they the prey.

 

The words slip out, old friends that steady his hands.

 

* * *

 

First, he tries to be the man his brother remembers in their later years. But that brings nothing but hurt and screaming. Then, he tries to be pieces of the people his brother admires, Zenyatta’s wisdom, Angela’s kindness, Lena’s optimism. But that causes more confusion and accusations of mockery.

 

Who do you want me to be, Hanzo nearly yells, hands thrown to the air, tell me and I will become that.

 

I want you to be yourself, Genji replies, equally frustrated, I want you to be the person I know you can be.

 

You will be disappointed, Hanzo snorts.

 

Perhaps, Genji replies, but I will have my brother back, and that's what I want.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't stay in one place for long. On the move, on the run. Stars above at night, soil and pavement beneath his feet.

 

Keep going, the wind says, blowing into his sails. Keep going, his ghosts whisper, hiding in the corners of his eyes. Keep going, his demons heckle, nipping at his heels.

 

Rolling stones grow no moss- and neither will he.

 

* * *

 

They both hate the rain. Phantom limbs and old ghosts alike awaken in the rain.

 

They hide in their bed. They sleep.

 

* * *

 

No one is born kind. It’s why children are so cruel. People learn to be kind, are taught by example. Some learn it later than others. Some never learn at all.

 

An EMP goes off on one of his missions. When he comes back, Gabriel is the only one who doesn’t look surprised.

 

People are in a frenzy- where’d did they get that kind of fire power? If they can take out our systems like that, we need to counter them. Ana is the only one besides Gabriel who doesn’t look concerned.

 

Steady, she says later as he aims down the sight, calloused hand on his shoulder, too rough to be considered gentle. You have to choose, she says, as the training bots close in.

 

 _Bang_ , goes the gun, _bang bang bang bang bang_ , it rings six times as his eye burns and the bots nearest Ana and Genji fall. _Bang_ , rings a seventh shot from behind him, the bot he knew would have gotten him in the back blown to pieces.

 

He doesn’t flinch.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo doesn't talk about the ten years between Genji's death and his return, no matter who asks or whines or wheedles. He's a ghost for ten years, except on the anniversary of their battle. There's nothing- not even Athena seems able to find him.

 

Jesse knows. Hanzo’s never told him and Jesse’s never asked. But he knows.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, they fight. It seems the world will end on those days- two killers who know the worst ways to hurt a person slinging vileness at one another. Two beat dogs snapping at each other.

 

But some lines are never crossed. No matter the harsh words and raised voices- they never really hurt each other. Nothing that lasts, nothing that bruises and scars.

 

That means something. They don't know what yet, but it does

 

* * *

 

This new generation of heroes doesn't need old soldiers festering. They are softer, and stronger, than they.

 

Their group is strong and established- heroes are sprouting up like weeds through sidewalk cracks: defiantly, persistently, constantly.

 

Come with me, Jesse says, back straight and bags packed.

 

Ok, Hanzo says, ok.

 

* * *

 

A clay pot, soil, and a seed.

 

It is early, the sun peaking over the horizon, but only just. The dingy motel room is small but warm. Clothes lie carelessly on the floor like they plan to be here forever. Two strong arms wrap around him, hands calloused but gentle. Holding, not trapping.

 

What are you planting, Jesse asks.

 

Hanzo leans back into his arms, which tighten slightly in response- I don't know, he replies.

 

Jesse hums low in his throat. He presses his lips to the back of Hanzo’s head- Something good, I hope.

 

Hanzo closes his eyes and smiles.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @writingdeviant   
> On tumblr: writingdeviation
> 
> I'm creating a mchanzo fic and art zine as well: To Ashes. If you wanna see what we're up to, follow us on tumblr: toashesfanzine


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